The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [94]
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t matter. No one will know one way or the other. No, it’s up to you, Mary Rose. We don’t know each other all that well. If you would prefer to wait—” He finally managed to get his mouth to shut up. What was wrong with him? Had he lost all control of his brain?
Very slowly, Mary Rose nodded. But she still just stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, still wearing that very lovely gown her mother had made over for her. It was pale pink with a lot of lace at the neckline and just a straight fall of skirt to her ankles. He was surprised that the pale pink was so very nice with her bright hair.
Tysen cleared his throat, hoped he didn’t sound like a man about to be felled by lust, and said, “I am very fond of you, Mary Rose. And I know you are of me as well. I know that lovemaking must seem very strange to you and—”
His precious bride waved away his words. “Yes, perhaps,” she said, and took a step toward him. “Could you please kiss me?”
And so he did. Very soon, he realized that he wanted her more than he could even begin to imagine, and yet she was a virgin and he remembered Melinda Beatrice, her awful pain, her sobs that first night when he came into her, her sobs after he had come out of her, her sobs when he had wanted her again so very badly he’d nearly cried.
He shook his head. He’d been a boy, hadn’t known a single thing about how to give pleasure, how to take pleasure when it was offered. Not that he knew much more now. But he had, he admitted to himself, during those first months of his marriage, listened to his brothers whenever they spoke of matters of the flesh, which wasn’t a rare occurrence at all. So, he supposed, he had a good deal of theory down very well.
“Let me unfasten your gown for you. Then, if you like, I can go out into the corridor while you put on your nightgown.”
She pulled her thick hair out of the way, and Tysen found that his fingers were extraordinarily nimble on all the buttons of that wretched, beautiful gown. He forced himself to step back when her white back was bare.
“There, it’s done. I’m sorry I didn’t think to place a screen in here.” He left her then, quickly, and paced outside the bedchamber door, up and down the corridor. He found himself drawn to the sound of a woman’s quiet voice. It was Sinjun. She and Colin were speaking in their bedchamber, and the door wasn’t closed.
He, a vicar, a man who would give a good lecture to any of his children were they to eavesdrop, walked closer to that cracked open doorway. He heard Sinjun say, “But Colin, Tysen was only a boy when he married Melinda Beatrice. He knew nothing. He was always so pious and proper that naturally he wouldn’t know anything. He isn’t at all like Douglas or Ryder or you, and never was, for that matter. I’m just concerned that—” She stalled, but Tysen already knew everything she would have said; it was crystal clear in the quiet air.
Then Colin said, “Listen to me, Sinjun. Tysen isn’t a clod, nor is he a fool. He’s still a Sherbrooke, and I swear to you that the Sherbrooke men are born knowing how to make love properly to a woman. Leave be. Come to bed and I will let you seduce me, if you promise to go very slowly so I will have enough time to respond to you.”
Sinjun giggled. Then, “You’re sure it will be all right? You don’t believe you should perhaps speak to Tysen, ask him if he has any questions or perhaps wishes to discuss things? Colin, wait! What are you doing? Oh, goodness, you are an evil man.”
Tysen heard his sister, his baby sister, giggle. Then he heard only silence. No, that was a very deep breath someone in that bedchamber just drew in.
Tysen quickly walked away. So he’d been born knowing how to please a woman, had he? Well, he’d never succeeded with Melinda Beatrice. But that had been so very long ago, and Sinjun was right.